


The Sound of Wings

by purplekitte



Category: Horus Heresy - Various Authors, Warhammer 40.000
Genre: Eroto-comatose lucidity, Incest, M/M, Multiple Orgasms, Multiple Partners, Night Lords Canon-Typical Warnings, Prince of Crows, Riding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-27
Updated: 2013-05-27
Packaged: 2017-12-13 02:40:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/819000
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/purplekitte/pseuds/purplekitte
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Atramentar love their captain. A lot. They decide to show him how much.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Sound of Wings

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: rough sex, references to rape, prostitution, under-aged sex, drug use, and everything you would expect from the Night Lords, spoilers for Prince of Crows
> 
> The original tumblr conversation: "plot bunny free to a good home: the atramentar love their captain. a lot. they decide to show him how much  
> they refused to be a company without him. night lords. the best of the night lords. these are not people who have high standards, but they only wanted one captain  
> …so they buy him a watch from his old friends on the watch. or ride him till he’s unconscious.  
> sevatar would like to point out that his helmet display always has the time"

‘The Word Bearers swear by it.’

‘And their oaths are worth shit now?’ Sevatar countered.

Tal Vanek shrugged. ‘Even if they’re wrong or lying, then you’ve accepted a token of our appreciation and are no worse off.’ He turned his black eyes directly on him. ‘Sev, you’re keeping your problems less secret than you think.’

‘If you told the Word Bearers, I will feed you your balls before I eat your hearts.’

‘I’m sure they’re perfectly aware there are some of us who have various problems, but if they put two and two together between “I have this friend” and your constantly bleeding eye sockets, it’s your own damned problem.’

The Atramentar, those that remained, all had their eyes on him. He chose to interpret their expressions as uncertainty if he would be able to perform his duties as captain properly, and lust. He was aware he was probably wrong, but didn’t want to play the guessing game further.

(Sometimes he wanted Curze to fuck him so much it hurt more than the actual sex did when they got to it. He couldn’t imagine anyone feeling that strongly about him.)

He punched Vanek in the nose in a flash, hard enough for something to crunch and it to start to bleed. ‘I can make you bleed from everywhere too if you think I need more camouflage.’

Vanek grinned, licking at his blood absently as it oozed down to his teeth. ‘Do it with your dick, and we’re getting somewhere. What’s a little blood to duty?’

That bastard, he knew Sevatar wouldn’t take it lightly if he was going to talk about this as a duty they felt upon their oaths to the Atramentar. What was he going to say? _No, you’re wrong. Stop trying to help me._ You didn’t tell people the one thing that mattered didn’t.

Sevatar pushed him over and double-checked the taste of his mouth, blood on his tongue and staining his teeth. He could hear the change of tension in the room, his brothers helping each other remove bulky terminator plate and laughing and joking a bit. _Fine, you win, I’ll humour you._

He didn’t do this with his brothers much. It was another one of those easy comradery things that came easily to some people who weren’t him.

Vanek was wearing only his bodyglove too and tearing it off him was as effortless as holding him down with a knee in his stomach. He didn’t fight back, other than cursory giving as good as he got and adjusting positions. Vanek breathing was too fast for the mild exertion. Arousal, anticipation, no smell of fear.

Sevatar ground their hardening erections together as he shifted his knees to get his legs apart, growling unconsciously as Vanek bit his neck and shoulders.

‘Planning on me fucking you dry or have you got anything?’ he remembered to ask at this point, the difference between a proper bedding and a back-alley quickie, as they’d thought of it back on Nostromo when you were turning tricks. Curze never did any prep with him, and no one was going to bother with someone they were in the middle of skinning.

Malek tossed a tube of some kind of industrial lubricant their way that Sevatar caught out of the air, but didn’t bother to read the label. Vanek grunted as he pushed two slicked fingers inside him ungently, but pushed back towards it.

Sevatar fucked him hard and left him sprawled like a puppet with its strings cut. Not trying to hurt, but making no effort not to or to give his partner pleasure. Vanek came anyway. ( _His father’s hands around his throat and he bucked up into it--_ ) It was good and hot and tight, and his orgasm left him seeing phantom colours behind his eyelids for a moment.

‘Well?’ he asked the others. ‘Anyone else want a go? This could take a while, unless you’re expecting me to get tired out as fast as that weakling.’

‘I’ll take a turn next,’ Tsal announced. He was always the first to volunteer to speartip an assault, claiming he had no interest in slipping in the blood and mess whoever got there last had to deal with. ‘Unless someone else was getting anxious.’

‘Ladies first,’ Malek called back.

Tsal and Sevatar took it slower this time, wrestling, and groping only slightly more than would happen in a normal spar. When he got bored of that, he flipped Tsal onto his stomach, pinned his arms above his head, and took him.

‘Like it? Tell me or I won’t know.’

‘I’ve had better. You fuck like my ten-year-old sister.’

Sevatar wished people would be more informative, because he really didn’t understand things. Witty banter was just something he made up that didn’t mean anything, so if other people were trying to communicate anything, he didn’t get it. ‘I’ve fucked your sister. That’s a compliment. She made me pay first, though.’ If he’d been talking to Tovac that would have even been true.

He rolled off Tsal when he was done and raised an eyebrow. Sevatar wasn’t tired yet, but he had definitely burned some energy and his body knew it. Slow down. Save bursts of strength from when you need it, it said. As far as his brothers were concerned, he’d only just taken the edge off enough for them to get started for real.

So he let four of the Atramentar ease him onto his back. He didn’t like the idea of giving up control as much as had been described when Vanek told him about the ritual, but he did trust these men unquestioningly, so he couldn’t find motivation not to go along with it.

Eroto-comatose lucidity: a state of consciousness achieved through complete physical and emotional exhaustion, brought about by inducing successive orgasms by every known means alternating with short periods of exhausted sleep.

Jakresh leaned in to kiss him from above. Malek traced the contours of the muscles of his chest with his tongue. Garadon massaged his foot and around a half-healed laceration on that ankle while biting at his hip, making the bone of his iliac crest creak. Azal went further, wrapping his mouth around Sevatar’s cock and licking it clean.

They moved around him and kissed and bit and stroked and sucked until it was too much trouble to keep track of who was touching him where. The needle was more of an itch than anything as it entered his arm. ‘What is it?’

‘No idea. I got it off some pansy from the IIIrd I killed. Seems like a good time to try it out.’

By every known means of arousal. Whatever it was, it was strong enough Sevatar could feel it burn as it entered his blood. He could feel hormone cascades beginning, but they felt a little too far away to keep track of, everything a little blurry. A fresh layer of sweat beaded on his skin and he was hard again.

Jakresh straddled his hips. ‘Lie back and think of the VIIIth.’

‘How am I doing this for the sake of the Legion again?’

‘So we don’t have to put up with you at all hours.’

Jakresh lowered himself down onto Sevatar and rode him, clenching around him and moving up and down for friction. The others kept touching him as he groaned and they watched, stroking his shoulders and calves and finger-combing his hair.

Jakresh moaned quietly as he finished across his stomach, and Azal took his place, impaling himself on Sevatar’s cock. Sevatar’s breath caught and his hips bucked and waves of heat crashed over him again.

He lost track of things for a moment, he didn’t know how long. ‘Sev,’ Thorion whispered in his ear. ‘Sev, not yet. You can either damn well hurry up and sleep properly or I’ll fuck you until you’re paying attention.’

‘I’m not sure you have enough for me to even notice.’

Hands on him all over. Thorion turned to sucking a bruise on the soft skin just beneath his ear. Someone guided his length between Sevatar’s lips and he sucked from experience turned to instinct. Another of his brothers mounted him.

The weight sinking down on him felt good. He registered that much. He shivered between the warm breath on his skin and the cooler air from the ship’s circulation, then shuddered violently as he came again. His body was getting strung out and hypersensitive to the constant stimulation without a refractory period. Oxytocin. Prolactin. All the repressor hormones being produced in response to cope with the imbalances. He’d never exactly made a study of how many orgasms an Astartes could have in a row or cared enough to ask anyone from the IIIrd.

He could fight if he really needed to, he thought. He could burn everything off with enough combat hormones. That he could was the important part.

He was drifting again. A tongue traced spirals around his navel. Someone pushed a finger into his ass, then another, searching for the cluster of nerves there and pressing. He heard himself whimper.

‘Want a turn, Raven?’ Thorion called to the only man present not of the Atramentar. Always an outsider, but they knew Sevatar would have wanted him invited to the party if he’d been the one sending out invitations.

He was one of them now. VIIIth Legion. Adopted, but what did that matter? You might as well call someone not XIIth after he’d pounded Nails into his head to share in their burden.

Alastor Rushal shrugged and didn’t say anything, as ever, but his eyes wandered Sevatar’s supine form and he sauntered over and straddled him.

Sevatar leaned up to kiss him on the forehead and his scarred lips. Rushal made a wordless but breathy little sound as he was penetrated that Sevatar knew well.

Rape a guy enough times and suddenly he’d defend your unconscious body to the death. People. Made no sense. But they had an understanding now, the two of them.

His muscles trembled with exhaustion. He could feel pressure all around his head. Almost. Not quite. Too much.

His brothers pressed in around him, like they needed skin-to-skin contact with him even when they weren’t stimulating him. He could almost... ‘Enjoying yourself, captain?’

‘I’ve had worse,’ he replied to Vanek’s smirk, jerking his hips upward. His voice sounded distant to his ears, and like he was only mildly winded, not teetering on the edge of an abyss.

Pleasure. Pain. It built to a peak within him again and he heard himself cry out. The intimate touch pressed in around him. It was too much and then there was more. More. More.

Time slowed down nearly to a stop.

Each beat of his hearts seemed to come minutes apart and bang in his ears like a drum. He was drifting.

He was. He was.

He didn’t have to guess what Rushal was thinking because of course he could hear his own thoughts in his own head.

Then he was Tal Vanek with one hand on the Raven’s shoulder to steady him and still aching and as cheerful as he was worried.

He was each and every one of the Atramentar, and all of them together in one group-mind as they worked together and played off each other. They _loved_ their captain. A lot. They’d decided to show him how much.

He was a Legion serf losing her virginity to a dashing pilot. It hurt, but less than she had worried and she was proud of herself for growing up. He saw the dark corner where she would curl up and die and the airless void that choked him.

He was two of his battle brothers jerking each other off in the showers. Everyone knew they were fuck-buddies, but they didn’t want anyone to know they thought of themselves as lovers. They would die in the same battle.

He was a woman giving birth on one of the lower decks and the medicae standing by and her infant son. He saw the maw of the daemon ripping her head off, the accidental needle stick and the long descent into the wasting sickness, the stormbolter rounds.

He didn’t see a way out of the cell yet, but he would definitely get out. He was a Dark Angel of Caliban, he could walk on shattered legs... And he saw what they would do to him.

Tendrils of his mind everywhere. Space and time breaking. Happiness. Sadness. Anger and hope. Smiles and knives. He was men. Women. Astartes. Children. Servitors. The machine-spirit of the ship. He was living. He was dying. Would die. Everything would...

He was. He was.

He reached from the bowels of the ship to the bridge to his primarch’s inner sanctum...

It was like being caught in tar, cold and dark as a shadow, or a wet blanket being thrown over his head. Those black, bottomless eyes bore into him as though he was there and they could see him.

+Go to sleep, Jago,+ his father told him with a smile wider than his face.

Right. Sleep. He couldn’t...

Death was... Death and... the sound of her wings...

Sevatar slammed back into his body as if from a great height and the blackness rose up to greet him for a very long time.


End file.
